


And So He Shall Devour The Crown

by deamsgirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, BAMF!Merlin, Cannibalism, I REGRET NOTHING, M/M, dark!fic, no seriously, shit got real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8027533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deamsgirl/pseuds/deamsgirl
Summary: By the time Merlin reached Camlann, it was already too late, but it didn't matter.  Arthur belonged to Merlin long before the first stars tentatively began to shine, and that is how it will always remain





	And So He Shall Devour The Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Six years later and I still can't believe I wrote something with cannibalism.
> 
> This was born from reading somewhere that cannibalism is sometimes used as a way to reincarnate someone into the cannibalist's body, so... yeah. This happened.

The field of Camlann is soaked with the spoils of war; blood softens the ground like a recent rain and bodies dot the battlefield as far as the eye can see, but Merlin spares little concern for the mass of death. He is only worried about one death, one body, one life-blood soaking back into the soil—away from Merlin, just beyond his reach.

He weaves through fallen soldiers, most of them dead already but a few grasping feebly at his trousers as he runs past, and he shakes them off with the fierce determination of a man hell-bent on a single objective. Finally, near the shores of the thrashing ocean, he sees the feeble sunlight glint off a golden crown, a silver breastplate, and a dragon-born sword, and he lets loose a wail of anguish that shakes the earth itself. Mountains shiver, the ground cracks and crumbles, and lightening dances along the battlefield as Merlin drops to his knees beside Arthur.

No breath moves Arthur's lungs, no heartbeat moves Merlin's hand when it settles on Arthur's chest, and no love moves Arthur's lips upwards at Merlin's presence. The battle is over, the king is dead. Survivors lay down their weapons. Some cry for their fallen leader, while others stumble around in a daze, as if waking up from a month-long slumber.

The battle is over, the king is dead, and Merlin's heart splinters like the crumbling hills under the pressure of his grief.

Rain begins to fall in a gentle mist, and it washes away the dirt and gore from Arthur's pale, beautiful face. The purifying spray turns red with Merlin's anguish before it burns hot with his fury. The skies weep fire and ash, Merlin hears the screams of those who are still able to make the sound, and he leans down press a kiss to Arthur's cool, still lips. The flames die out before they reach the embracing couple, but no one else is spared their heat. The screaming takes on an agonized lilt as the followers of the false king burn in the rain of Merlin's heartbreak, his vengeance.

Arthur is dead, and Merlin cannot die. This day was fated to happen from the moment Merlin first looked into the depths of Arthur's blue eyes, but the inevitability of it makes it hurt no less. “Arthur,” Merlin breathes against the king's lips. “Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_.”

Excalibur hums in Arthur's slack grip, and Merlin's fingers wrap tightly around the hilt. Power pulses along its blade in time with Merlin's heartbeat, its sharp point sings mournfully as Merlin presses it against Arthur's chest, and the earth cries in outrage. Arthur belongs to the earth now, but he belonged to Merlin first, had belonged to Merlin when the stars first began to shine and time first began to flow, and he will belong to Merlin long after all the stars die out and time wheezes to a stop.

Arthur's breastplate slices away like warm butter when Merlin drags Excalibur against it, and Arthur's flesh is even more pliant as it peels apart to reveal the stilled heart resting in Arthur's breast. Hunger crashes through Merlin's soul like the jagged waves of the sea behind him. Excalibur drops to the ground as Merlin cups Arthur's heart in his hands and presses a reverent kiss to its slick surface. “Arthur,” he whispers again.

And then he feasts on Arthur as the sky continues to burn away the sullied field, and the earth wails its loss of the Once and Future King. He feasts until his stomach is close to bursting, until his face and hands are painted crimson with Arthur's insides, and his eyes swirl golden and Arthur-blue in the glow of the flames.

 

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Merlin rights the skewed crown above Arthur's brow, grips Excalibur tightly in one hand, and lifts Arthur into his arms. Ash and bones crunch under Merlin's boots as he carries Arthur through the carnage, and Merlin ducks his head to cry into the crook of Arthur's neck. He can feel the first ripples of something stirring and waking in the pit of his stomach, but the flaxen pall of Arthur's dead skin is still like a knife-tip slowly dragging along Merlin's insides.

The forest holds its breath as Merlin steps up to a towering oak. It is huge and ancient and thrumming with a dizzying power, but its trunk splits open on Merlin's command, and it spreads itself wide for Merlin to step inside. He holds Arthur's torso flush with his own in their new, cramped tomb. Excalibur still juts proudly from one hand, he presses it through Arthur's hollowed-out chest, he presses it through his own still-beating heart, and he doesn't stop until the tip is lodged into the fleshy innards of the tree. The oak sounds like it's crying out in pain as it snaps its trunk closed, locks Merlin into its dark depths with no comfort but the cold blade of Excalibur along his insides and the cold skin of Arthur along his outsides.

His belly stirs again, and Merlin closes his eyes just as Arthur's open. Merlin's soul is a world of foggy, moonlit nights and brilliantly sunny mornings, and he clutches Arthur's ( _warm_ ) hand as they navigate through the subtle lands together. The landscape takes on brighter colors and sharper edges as more and more of Arthur wakes, but eventually the shifting ceases until they can stand in a sunlit clearing that is neither completely Merlin nor Arthur, and they can kiss until the stars fizzle out and time slows to a stop.

 

\----------

 

The people speak of their beloved king being laid to rest in a crystal tomb in Avalon. They look out over the charred remains of Camlann and believe he will one day be reborn to take up his crown and throne again. But eventually, the grass and flowers break through the ash, and the people stop waiting for their leader to return.

Arthur will never again walk the same lands as his people, he will not stand as a lone being with a heart that beats only for himself, and he will wear no other crown than Merlin's fingers tangled in his hair. He breathed renewed life within the depths of Merlin's guts, until he and Merlin were one, and their hearts beat as one, and their souls shone as one.

They were two sides of the same coin, once. Now the coin has been melted down, and the two sides swirl together until it is unknown where one begins and the other ends. The dragon spoke of destiny, but Merlin knows his destiny has always paled in comparison to his love for Arthur. This is something greater than destiny, and it is absolutely perfect.


End file.
